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Ray and I have been talking about how weird it is that we’ve broken so many things since we’ve moved in our new house. First, it was a vase. Ray gave me that vase, but he had to remind me of that. In other words, while it was pretty, it wasn’t sentimental to me.
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A few weeks ago, I pulled out my perfume that I love but don’t wear very often. I’m just not one to wear perfume every day. That isn’t me. I wear it on special occasions. And since I don’t use it often, I don’t ever get tired of the scent and consider changing it. When Ray bought it for me several years ago, it became MY scent. I loved it from first sniff. ;) Also, because it doesn’t get used often, it has lasted me a long time. I still had a LOT left in the bottle when I dropped it.
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Unfortunately, it wasn’t one of those times where it falls, bounces, and miraculously doesn’t break. It fell. It crashed. It shattered into 1,001 pieces. What a deal. The good news is that I did not get cut. The bad news is that I had a HUGE mess to clean up. Even worse, I smelled like one of those women that cause me to gasp and let a curse word or two fly when they pass me in the grocery store. YUCK! Since it was such a big mess, it took a while. To avoid Grayson from crawling into the bathroom (where I dropped the perfume bottle), I had to close the door. Can you say “Eternity by Calvin Klein Summer Limited Edition high”? It was bad. After I cleaned the floor and picked up all the glass I could find, Ray turned on the vent. It was so smelly that we decided to go take Grayson for a ride in his wagon around the neighborhood. Throughout our walk, Ray was teasing me about how I smelled. I did stink. I felt like I had bathed in that potion. After that day, I don’t know how I still like that scent, but I do. As a matter of fact, I am looking forward to getting it replaced.
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But last night, something did get broken that was quite sentimental to me. It was a coffee mug Ray got me. I’ve had it for 2 ½ years or so. It was a surprise/“I thought of you” gift. It was the perfect mug. It was the perfect size, was colorful, and had my kind of art on it. For the longest time, I wouldn’t even use it because I was afraid I would break it. Ray was always on me about it sitting there – so much so that I started using it. And until it got broken, it was the ONLY mug I would use to drink hot chocolate in. I wasn’t there to see it happen (I’m glad), but from what I understand, Grayson just grabbed it off the counter and dropped it. I am not mad at Grayson. He didn’t mean to break it. He was just being his curious self. Besides, the crash actually scared him quite a bit. I am not mad at Ray either. No matter how closely you watch Grayson, it is almost impossible to prevent him from grabbing (and dropping or throwing) something. He is very determined. No wait, VERY determined. Wait – VERY VERY VERY determined. Yeah, that’s our boy. As I said, I wasn’t there to see it happen. I was upstairs. I just heard the crash and Grayson crying. My first question was if he and Gray were okay. With hesitation, Ray said, “ye-ah”. Of course, I flew down the stairs. First, I see tears streaming down Grayson’s face and Ray comforting him. Then, Ray looks up at me with this worried look on his face. He said, “A mug broke”. I didn’t think anything of it. I got the hand broom and knelt down to pick up the mess. At that moment I realized what mug it was…I said, “Oh, it was my mug.” Ray turned my way and said, “I’m sorry”.
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Someone might say, “It was a coffee mug. A coffee mug is just a thing”. And they would be right. And I’m not a materialistic person. So, things usually don’t mean much to me. I’m more of the sentimental type. But this “thing” just had big time sentimental value. It might sound weird, but I had a hard time gathering the pieces of my mug that were spread out all over our kitchen floor. Do you know how it feels when you want to cry and maybe you are crying inside but you are trying like the devil to suppress it? That was me last night. I kept telling myself to be rational. I will always remember Ray giving it to me. I enjoyed it for several years. The person who gave it to me is still in my life. Still, I felt very sad. That mug had special meaning to me. A coffee mug you might ask…yes, a coffee mug. Later on, Ray asked me if I was mad. I told him I was not mad – just sad. He said, “I’ll get you another one just like it, and we’ll pretend it never got broken”. That was so sweet of him. But the little kid in me said, “No, I don’t want another one.”
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When I was getting ready for bed last night, I thought about all the times in my life that I’ve lost or broken something I treasured so much. As a kid, there were many instances. But as an adult, there are very few. One happened a few years ago.
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Ray and I put the dogs in their kennels and left for the store. When we got home, Mya was loose in the house. Bad news. Mya is a very shy, sweet dog. But when left alone, she is destructive. We keep telling her she should see about going to a counselor. ;) Anyway, she was loose – and there was stuff torn up. There were strips of paper and such. As I was picking up the pieces all over the house, I realized one of the things she tore up was a picture I had sitting on our bookshelf. It wasn’t just any picture either. It was the one and only photo of me and my dad when I was a few weeks old. I LOVE this picture. It is the original and the only copy that exists. Needless to say, I have many, many pictures with my dad through the years. But this one was taken when my dad and I had a clean slate with each other. The only thing I knew at that point was that he was my dad. I have no way of knowing for sure, but I assume I felt so genuinely loved and safe in his arms. I treasured that picture so much because if that was how he made me feel, that was the only time I ever felt that way. I don’t remember it at all, but at least I had a picture of it…until MYA tore it to pieces. It was stripped – and soaked with saliva. I was SO mad. Through tears, I yelled at her so loud that I’m positive everyone on the street heard me. It wasn’t really that I wanted to kill her. She is just a dog that was having a party when her parents left her in the house unattended. All I wanted was to have my picture back. Ray tried hard to put it back together using Photoshop. He did a good job considering the condition the pieces were in, but it looked nothing like it did.
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When I was SO mad at Mya, I think I yelled “I hate you!” over and over. Again, that is something a kid would say. In many ways, I’m kinda still like a kid. I am especially that way when I am sad or get my feelings hurt. I can be really tough sometimes, but sometimes, I am very sensitive.
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As we were packing up to move a month or so ago, Ray mentioned again how funny it is that I keep so many things. When he first met me, I think it boggled his mind and maybe annoyed him. He still might not fully understand it, but he respects it. I really appreciate that. I don’t know how to explain my connection to some of my keepsakes. They just exist. And it isn’t just with the appearance of an object. It is how the fur on my 4 ft tall rabbit named Clarence feels in my hand. It makes me think of the nights alone in my room when he made me feel safe. It is how a Beatles tune awakens wonderful memories of me laughing at my father singing, dancing, and playing imaginary instruments. It is how the dinging of my Granny’s clock (that now sits on my mantle) brings me back to the many, many times she and I would sit in her living room talking and enjoying a glass of iced tea.
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I am not one of those folks that live in the past. And I’m not one to only talk and plan for the future either. I do a good job of living in the now. But I don’t ever want to forget my past. There is bad to be learned from and good to savor. Cherish is the key word here. Cherish where you’ve been and where you are…and without a doubt, you must let your good memories of the past and the happiness you feel today fuel your excitement about what’s to come.
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My life is good. I hope your is too.
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